


I'm Gettin' Pining for Christmas

by Sonderlost



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonderlost/pseuds/Sonderlost
Summary: In all her life - dead or undead - Carmilla Karnstein was never a big fan of the concept of marriage, or of the celebration of Christmas, but Laura Hollis somehow changed the game.She's had a heartbeat again for years, now. But she doesn't think it has ever raced this fast or panicked this much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas + Natasha and Elise's idea that Hollstein would propose simultaneously.  
> Find me at sonderlostfanfiction.tumblr.com.

            In over three hundred years, Carmilla Karnstein had endured a number of first experiences. First time she faced death. First time resurrected. First time falling into something that seemed a little like love, and first time scorned. Buried alive, defying her mother, falling into real love and finally, finally being loved in return.

            This was the first and only time Carmilla Karnstein ever planned to propose.

            Before her death, she had countless offers, with her father seeking the highest bid on his daughter’s hand in marriage. After her death, watching people age and die around her, without her, the bitter taste left in her mouth at the idea of marriage only soured more. But with a new life, a mortal life, Carmilla could feasibly live and die with someone else.

            And after three hundred years of roaming the earth, Carmilla found that someone else.

            “Carm, I can’t reach. It’s too high up,” Laura Hollis whined, straining to crown their Christmas tree with its star. A grin split Carmilla's face, and the panic in the ex-vampire dimmed ever so slightly. Pale hands plucked the star away, combat boots and lithe muscles stretched as Carmilla's extra inch over Laura landed the star safely on the tree.

            “Do you wanna light it up now or later?” Carmilla asked, near-rhetorically, since the correct answer was obvious to both women. Instead of replying, Laura tugged her girlfriend to the outlet, the end of a long chain of Christmas lights resting nearby. Together, hands wrapped according to their tradition, they plugged in the lights.

            The pair stood back to take in the morning’s hard work, basking in the gentle glow of the tree standing proudly in their living room. It had taken some time, but each light stood perfectly equidistant from the next, the tree doused in a thorough smattering of glowing dots. Carmilla suppressed a sense of guilt that she would have to ruin it.

            “I still think the days of real lit candles on Christmas trees were far better than these newfangled contraptions,” she murmured instead, resisting the urge to pull Laura to her chest, where her heart pounded with nerves.

            “Fire hazard, silly. As amazing as it might have been, burning down the place is not worth recreating the 1600s.”

            “I’m just saying, the flicker of real fire, the danger. The beauty. It’s one of the only things I tolerate about Christmas. The rest is just stupid and useless and sentimental.”

            “Oh hush, you Scrooge McVampire. Christmas cookies? Decorating? You’ll never admit it, but you love it.” Laura looked over at her, beaming. Carmilla returned it with a soft smile.

            “I love _you_. That’s why.” Laura kissed her, the taste of her smile on her lips. Gentle arms intertwined, and it occurred to Carmilla that Laura could probably feel her racing heartbeat.

            The phone rang. They parted reluctantly.

            “That’s probably my dad,” Laura whispered.

            “He’ll want you to retrieve his baked goods, then, hm?” Carmilla’s arms fell to her side as she took a subtle step back. Laura nodded and gathered her belongings to drive to the old Hollis household.

            “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll be returning as a champion, bearing whatever he’s baked today.”

            “I’m sure I’ll love to eat whatever comes through our door next.” Carmilla smirked, a fire smoldering in her eyes as Laura’s face flushed.

            “Behave yourself!” she squeaked. “I love you.” And she was out the door.

{~}

            _“Carmilla, nothing would make me happier than to see my baby girl marrying you,” Sherman answered. Serious, stone-faced, then he chuckled, a deep rumble of undying affection for his only daughter. His fiery, independent, don’t-need-no-man daughter. “But we both know she doesn’t need my permission.”_

_“No, sir, she can certainly decide herself,” she grinned, his chuckle contagious. “Still, I’m old-fashioned. And even though she doesn’t need your permission, it would mean the world to the both of us if our marriage had your blessing.” Carmilla forced her bouncing leg to still as she studied the man sitting across from her. He smiled._

_“You have my complete blessing, kiddo. If there’s anything I can do to help…”_

_“Hah. Funny you should mention it. Do you think you could make a well-timed phone call?”_

{~}

            Carmilla swore softly under her breath as she struggled with the string of lights. Still, she toiled away, ensuring that the lights were angled just right to spell out the words. She began loosening certain bulbs along the string, periodically checking her progress by lighting up the tree. As more and more lightbulbs flickered out, Carmilla buried a growing sense of panic. She hoped Laura wouldn’t mind the ravaged Christmas lights. She hoped Laura wouldn’t come home before Carmilla was ready.

            She hoped Laura would say yes.

            At long last, she was done. Carmilla eyed the clock. She had asked Mr. Hollis to get Laura out of the house, call her over to his home not too far from their own place, and to stall her there. The trip, Carmilla had calculated, should take roughly two hours. Long enough for her to set up and, ideally, calm herself before Laura returned. Trailing her finger over a small velvet box, Carmilla took a deep breath, a habit she developed to settle her nerves during a time when she need not breathe at all. She turned out the lights, save for the Christmas tree’s adornments, tugged the blinds closed, and drew the curtains.

            The electric glow from the tree was far different from the flames on her childhood Christmas trees, yet somehow, they were infinitely more beautiful.

            Neither held a candle to Laura.

            Carmilla unplugged the tree and set the camera to record. She tucked it away, behind a strategically placed picture frame – she had moved it centimeter by centimeter, ran test after test to ensure it would capture the moment. Then, all she could do was wait and pace the floor, catlike. The velvet box sat snug in her back pocket, and Carmilla sent a prayer out to Inanna that the tightness of her pants wouldn’t give away the rectangular shape in her pocket.

            As though beckoned by her girlfriend’s racing thoughts, Laura’s voice rang through the doorway, right on cue. “Carm, I’m back!” Carmilla could hear Laura drop her keys and set some container, likely Mr. Hollis’s baking creation, on the counter.

            “Come in here,” Carmilla answered, straining to control the tremor in her own voice. Laura rounded the corner, midway through shucking her winter jacket and throwing it on the couch.

            “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do we have ghosts? Honestly, you’d think that we have room for only one undead being. Well, un-undead.” Laura finally took a breath, taking in the darkened room and the unlit tree. Her brow furrowed. “Did you unplug the tree, Carm?”

            “I dropped something back there when we lit it up the first time, and when I went to pick it up, I accidentally bumped out the plug. It didn’t feel right to light it up without you, so. I, uh. I waited.” A flush crept up her pale neck.

            “You waited so we could plug it in together? See, you _do_ like our Christmas traditions!”

            “I’m old-fashioned,” she half-protested, half-confessed. “Will you plug it in with me, or have I waited in vain for my fair maiden’s triumphant return with baked goods?” A happy squeak, a subtle press-up on her toes, and Laura’s hand found Carmilla’s as they restarted their tradition.

            As soon as the plug was safely slotted in, Carmilla’s hands landed over Laura’s eyes. Against soft, perplexed protests, Carmilla guided them to their feet and walked the girl to their mark. Carmilla threw a wink to the camera – posterity had grown on her since she regained mortality and Laura insisted on constant, adorable, beautiful documentation of “life’s most precious moments, Carmilla!” She murmured low in Laura’s ear, “Laura Eileen Hollis. I love you.” And she removed her hand from Laura’s eyes.

            After hours of pre-planning and meticulous, tedious bulb-unscrewing, there on the tree gleamed the words, spelled out in the remaining, intact lightbulbs, _Will you marry me?_

Carmilla felt more than heard Laura’s sharp inhale. Laura’s hands flew to cover her mouth. Carmilla gently turned Laura around by the shoulders. Honey-colored eyes glistened, but whether it was from tears or from the tree’s glow, Carmilla couldn’t tell.

            “I know I’m not so good with the _feelings_ thing, but. I love you. And I only have one life to live now, and I want to spend it with you.” Carmilla took to one knee. She extracted that velvet box from her pocket, flicked it open, and captured Laura’s hand. “So. Cupcake. Will you marry me?”

            Laura made no sound, only letting one tiny tear fall. Until another came, and another. The silence stretched out, long, uncertain, empty. Carmilla felt the disappointment, the heartbreak flood through her body. The first and only time she planned to propose. The second time, yet far more devastating than the first, she felt love’s scorn. She stood quickly, her muscles aching for escape.

            She had planned for everything. From Mr. Hollis’s distraction to the appropriate Christmas light brand that would work for her plan, from the simple yet gleaming ring in her hand to the precisely placed camera capturing her mortification at the one thing Carmilla hadn’t planned: Laura wasn’t saying yes.

            “I’m sorry. If it’s too soon, I’m sorry. I’ll wait as long as you need. Or if… If I’m not the one, that’s okay too. I just want what’s best for you. Whatever you want. I should go. Give you space. We can talk about this later if—” Lips cut off Carmilla’s panicked rambling. Lips that tasted like salt, like tears, and it occurred to Carmilla that this might be their last kiss and she couldn’t tell whose tears she was tasting. Tiny hands fisted Carmilla’s shirt. When Laura pulled away, Carmilla instinctively chased those lips, but Laura rested her forehead on Carmilla’s and locked eyes with her.

            “Stupid vampire. You ruined it.” And Carmilla’s heart broke. Laura pulled Carmilla by the shirt into the kitchen. Carmilla braced herself as words spilled out from Laura’s lips.

            “You weren’t supposed to propose. That was supposed to be my job. You were a countess. You’ve had a thousand proposals. I was supposed to propose to you. I talked to Mattie. Still don’t really know how. But she was here, or at least visited in my dreams, and I asked her for her blessing. I didn’t know who to ask; you don’t really have family anymore, but I thought that Mattie would be the best person – the only person, really – to ask for a blessing. I know how old-school you love to be, so I thought it would be right to ask her, and she said yes. She said you would say yes. But you beat me to it, you stupid vampire. My dad and I had this whole plan. He and I made these cupcakes together. Y’know, since you always call me cupcake. I had this whole plan, it was this whole process. That’s why I took so long to come home, we were icing all the cupcakes. I was supposed to come home and give you the cupcakes and you were supposed to say yes.” Carmilla’s eyes went from watery to wide-open throughout the course of Laura’s ramble. It occurred to Carmilla, fleetingly, that Mr. Hollis had helped plan both their proposals to each other. She wondered if he had a bet with himself on who would propose first. Laura broke her train of thought when she directed her to the two rows of cupcakes settled on the countertop, their icing gleaming, their lettering in perfect script.

            The first row read _w i l l y o u_. The second, _m a r r y m e ?_. An open ring-box sat above the question-mark cupcake.

            “I had this whole speech, Carm. You ruined it,” Laura said through a watery smile. “Will _you_ marry _me_? A-and just so you know. I won’t say yes until you say yes. So you have to say yes.” Carmilla nodded firmly. “Say it.”

            “You too?”

            “Same time?” Two heads nodded. Two pairs of lips curled upward.

            “Yes.” “Yes.” Both whispered, both were certain. Both were overjoyed. And so they kissed.

            And kissed.

            And there was no mistletoe, only a little growly sunbeam that said yes and her tiny, happy Hollis.

            “Cupcake. You terrified me,” Carmilla chuckled, and Laura laughed in response. “You weren’t answering, and it’s a rare day when you’re speechless. I was nervous enough _before_ you started crying. You just terrified me.”

            “I did, and I’m sorry. I was just panicking. Was my big bad ex-vampire future-wife that nervous? As if I’d say no. At least I’ll have it all on camera.”

            “Camera? You recorded it too?”

            “Of course I recorded it, Carmilla. Posterity! We can look back and laugh at how scared you were, at your _oh no_ face. Wait, Carm. ‘Too’? What do you mean, ‘too’?” Instead of admitting that she too had captured her proposal, Carmilla just kissed her new fiancée, a smile on both their lips.

            Carmilla was never one for Christmas, marriages, or unfortunate first-time experiences, but the experience of simultaneously proposing and being proposed to took the icing on the question-mark cupcake.


End file.
